


Five Times Hinata Misses Kageyama's Tosses

by realfakedoors



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: 5+1 Things, Character Study, Developing Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Haikyuu!! Manga Spoilers, Hinata Shouyou is Sunshine, Hinata Shouyou-centric, I just love that, Introspection, Karasuno, Light Angst, M/M, Volleyball Dorks & Nerds, Volleyball Dorks in Love, how could it mean anything besides kagehina, is a tag, kind of?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:01:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25041334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/realfakedoors/pseuds/realfakedoors
Summary: ...and the one time he misses something else.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio
Comments: 11
Kudos: 162





	Five Times Hinata Misses Kageyama's Tosses

**Author's Note:**

> i've had the worst writers block for the past few weeks, so I just really needed to write SOMETHING to get my brain working again... wanted to try my hand at a 5+1 ( ´･ω･)/ kagehina style!

> 1\. The Greatest Decoy

Missing the ball is second-nature to Shōyo Hinata; he is the Greatest Decoy, after all. It’s the terrifying certainty with which he jumps to strike the ball over the net that had earned him the nickname in the first place. He wasn’t a first-rate actor, either—everytime he jumped, he fully intended to hit the ball. 

Sometimes it was there, and sometimes it wasn’t. That wasn’t his call.

The problem isn’t the fact that he misses. It’s only natural that he can’t hit every single ball on a team of six players, and Hinata has developed a sort of pride when the ball goes somewhere else and he’s managed to steal the attention away of at least one of the other teams blockers while someone else—usually Tanaka or Asahi—scores a point. A point is a point when it comes to volleyball; whether it’s scored as a team or individual doesn’t matter. Sure, hitting the ball is _way_ more satisfying, but it’s not all there is to the game.

The problem comes from those times when Hinata misses, and the ball _was_ meant for him, it feels like something has just collapsed under his skin. A falling-heart feeling that rushes by the moment the ball hits the ground. A bouncing _thud_ , stinging with the weight of interrupted possibilities; a smaller-than-life few seconds where all eyes are on him, and they’re saying: _he missed?_

He missed?

_He missed._

It’s why he tried so hard with Old Coach Ukai, to get better at hitting the ball under any circumstance. Different setters, tossing to different heights and distances from the net; hitting with his eyes closed, eyes open, aiming, looking ahead, looking _behind_ him. Hinata will do anything so he never misses again. 

The extra training helped him to avoid more amateur mistakes, considering he can’t be expected to just wake up and have suddenly mastered the technical art of volleyball, but it didn’t make up for his lack of experience. Hinata knows he can’t depend on Kageyama’s expert sets to make up for his mistakes forever, especially if he someday intends to beat him in a proper rematch, but for now, Hinata will accept his part in this team. 

Even if it means he’s going to miss the ball more than he hits it—whatever it takes to stay in the court longer. 

* * *

> 2\. Second Tempo

It has been frustrating for Hinata, to say the least.

Not just the fact that his timing is off, or that he’s physically exhausted, or that he can taste the salt of sweat along his upper lip without any of the exhilarating payoff of striking the ball at the optimal point, but the fact that Hinata _knows_ he’s the problem here.

Kageyama’s tosses are perfect, as usual. The way the ball seems weightless once the spinning momentum slows; how it stills _just_ long enough for Hinata to hit it at the perfect moment of impact. The height is spot-on, the distance from the net is—

“Was that too low?”

“ _No_ ,” Hinata manages to force between his teeth, trying to keep the vitriol behind his mood from reaching his tone. “Let’s just try again.”

If Kageyama notices, he doesn’t say anything, waiting for Hinata to retrieve another ball from the cart and throw it towards him to ready the set. 

The problem, as Hinata sees it, is that he’s thinking too much. Volleyball for him has always been about _instincts_ —how fast can he react, to get to the ball before it hits the floor, to spike it over the net, to jump with enough height to get past a wall of blockers? Reactions, reactions, reactions. That’s the aspect of the game that Hinata lives for, it’s what compels him to jump higher, hit harder, to keep going, to never give up _—_

But tempo work is so _different_. 

It’s much more technically difficult for him, especially second tempo: a move that relies on an intentional delay to work properly, it’s a tactic that goes against every one of Hinata’s twitching-nerves, to stalk after the ball no matter where it is on the court or in the air. If he’s not desperately scavenging after the ball and putting every ounce of effort he has into scoring points or keeping the ball in play, then what is the point of playing? It feels unintuitive, to him. But Coach Ukai insists this is going to help them get even better, so Hinata forces himself to wait, tongue unconsciously sticking out in his effort to focus. The minute actions that occur during any volleyball set happen so quickly when you’re watching from the stands, but for Hinata, in real-time, it always feels too fast and not fast enough. Watching the motions as the ball arcs downward from his initial throw, only for it to spring upwards again at the slightest touch of Kageyama’s fingertips. 

A perfect set from a perfect setter. 

Hinata has to swallow his bitterness. He’s happy for Kageyama, to have seen his friend and partner grow, but god, if he doesn’t want to be on that level—want to be that _naturally_ good—too.

His muscles tense in anticipation, waiting, and he doesn’t know when he started to hold his breath, but it's making his adrenaline scream at him to move, _to move_ , and so he does.

The moment his sneakers touch off from the gym floor, Hinata already knows he’s messed up again.

His timing is off. The ball is suspended perfectly, just by some miracle of gravity and Kageyama’s stupidly good tosses, and Hinata isn’t going to be there to hit it in time.

* * *

> 3\. Bed rest

The entire team recognizes that the gym feels a little more empty when Hinata is absent. Nishinoya says so, loudly, as if to make up for the quiet left in Hinata’s wake, and Sugawara agrees with a small but encouraging smile. Coach Ukai is insistent that they proceed with practice as-usual— _Ginger doesn’t represent the whole team, you know! Practice is practice, so don’t let me catch you slacking off!_

That’s what he had told them, and Kageyama barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Hinata was the one who tried to ride his bike home in the pouring rain last week; no wonder he got sick, and it served him right to have to miss out. Practice would proceed as planned, whether or not that dumbass showed up. Kageyama has had a volleyball within reach of his hands since he developed object permanence at the tender age of two; he’s been practicing alone or with other teams his entire life. One person who he’s known for barely a year missing one practice? 

It’s like accepting headache medicine after fighting a migraine all day. He’s even tempted to exhale the word _finally,_ but decides against it as they begin warming up.

They run their usual drills for the first half of practice, and then coach splits them up into smaller teams to work on specific techniques.

Seeing as he’s not being dogged all of practice by a tiny, orange-headed annoyance— _set it to me, come on! Over here Bakayama-kun, toss to me already!—_ Kageyama decides to use the opportunity to try perfecting the distance of his tosses, something that can always be improved upon as far as he’s concerned.

After being granted permission by Daichi to use some of the facilities for that purpose, Kageyama recruited the ever-reliable Yachi to throw out some practice tosses for him to set. After their Tokyo training-camp, she was always willing to help him without much questioning, and they’d developed a good camaraderie when it came to these kinds of drills.

They work in cycles of silence and chatter, and Kageyama overall prefers it to be quiet so he can focus on his performance. It’s during one of these lulls in conversation that Kageyama purses his lips, squinting at the overhead light while thinking about a receive that had come to him just like the toss from Yachi above his head, remembering it well as one of many that Hinata happened to receive with his face. He smirks, just a little, before doing a back-set that ends up going a little too fast.

It’s a habit he’s fallen into when he’s not paying attention, something he blames solely on Hinata. Their minus tempo has come a long way, he thinks to himself as he nods to Yachi for another. The accuracy, the speed, the devastating force—the only thing more satisfying than pulling off that insane move is the look on the other team’s faces when it's their first time seeing it.

He starts improving, little by little, even as the fatigue from the day starts to catch up to him. It’s easier when he visualizes a spiker actually coming up to hit the ball—something Coach had taught him, because volleyball doesn’t exist in a vacuum.

_Yamayama-kun, toss to me!_

He can’t receive, set, spike, and serve every ball on his own, and he knows that better now.

_Bring it to me!_

_Bateyamaaaaaaa come onnnnn—_

There’s an unconscious arrogance that clings to Kageyama the longer it goes on, because he _knows_ he’s good, and he really can’t wait to play again in a real match. To go off against an unsuspecting team, to hear the whispers behind their backs of _Karasuno’s terrifying first year duo_ … his nerves are practically alight by the time Coach calls them back for finishing stretches and to discuss their next game.

“What’re you smiling about, Kags?” Tanaka asks him suddenly, slapping him on the back. 

“I wasn’t smiling,” Kageyama sneers immediately, face falling into a scowl and— _oh_ , maybe he had been smiling. Well, too late to go back on it now. “I… had to sneeze.”

“Hm,” Tanaka doesn’t look like he buys it for a second, but he doesn’t press Kageyama on it, either. 

After they finish practice and Kageyama returns to the club room, he’s surprised to find he has a missed text message on his phone. He pauses, mid-pulling his t-shirt over his head to stare at the little screen.

_BAKAYAMA I HATE BEING SICK IT’S SO BORING!!! I MISSED YOUR TOSSES TODAY WILL YOU COME OVER BEFORE YOU GO HOME AND TOSS TO ME MY MOM WON’T LET ME LEAVE MY HOUSE_

_please please please please please please please_

_PLEASEEEEEEEE_

_KAGEYAMAAAAAAAAAAAAA_

He barely manages not to laugh, trying to consider how much homework he has to do and how tired he is, versus the chance to practice some more while he finishes changing.

Unheard by Kageyama, Tanaka mutters a few words under his breath nearby.

“‘ _Not smiling’ my ass.”_

* * *

> 4\. Libero’s turn

When Hinata or Tsukishima end up in the back row during a set’s rotation, Hinata expects to be called off the court for the bench—for Nishinoya to swap with them. It’s just a standard practice for middle blockers and liberos to switch like that in volleyball; Hinata vows to one day be a better defensive player, but the middle of a match isn’t the time to really worry about that. Getting switched out is just part of the cycle, Hinata tells himself every time he’s called back to the bench. 

It’s not all bad, either. There is so much to learn about volleyball, just from watching it, and Hinata would be the first to admit that. It took only watching a single play on television of the Tiny Giant to change his life forever, so, while he absolutely relishes his time on the court, he tries to make every second off it count, too.

Watching his teammates play ignites something in him he can’t quite identify, like liquid gold mixing with his bloodstream and making every single nerve-ending in his body shimmer in excitement and pride. This is _his_ team! He’s not only a part of it, worthy to stand on the court beside them, but _look at how freakin’ good they are!_

They could not be more different and, more often than not, they’re totally dysfunctional, but the common thing that binds them is how _unwaveringly_ they want to _win_. If it’s not Asahi’s insane spikes, then it’s Daichi’s key receives and communication; if it’s not Daichi, then it’s Nishinoya receiving at a critical moment. 

And if it’s not them, there’s always Kageyama.

Reminded of the setter’s rather unwilling coronation in middle school, Hinata can see glimpses of why Kageyama had earned the title in the first place. He stands in the middle of the court like he belongs there, and it’s almost a little unnerving. The net isn’t an obstacle to him, like it is for Hinata; there isn’t a wall in front of him. What does he play for? Does he ever wonder what it’s like at the summit, too?

Maybe it’s simpler than that? Maybe he just plays because— 

_Ah_ , Hinata winces when Daichi makes a diving save, and he’s shouting for Kageyama to cover for it. (Honestly, it’s a really good receive, way better than Hinata could’ve pulled off unless he was using his forehead, but Daichi verbally acknowledging it’s short probably helps Kageyama prepare himself.)

And the answer to Hinata’s latent curiosities all come to a head when he sees Kageyama go for the ball. It’s hard to explain, but seeing the way he makes a reactionary, perfect, critical decision in the span of just a single second raises the hair on Hinata’s arms. It’s like he can do everything, and he _does_ , and he can make it at least look effortless. Hinata knows that Kageyama has poured more time into volleyball than virtually anyone else he’s ever known, so it’s not just that—it’s a complete fruition of all of that effort and talent culminating in just the slightest, yet most precise touch of his fingertips against the surface of the ball.

The play is well and truly amazing. He sets to Tanaka, having everyone—Hinata included—expecting the ball to go to their ace. The actions are fluid and they don’t miss a single beat, cheers erupting the moment the ball touches the ground.

Hinata feels something that he’s entirely not ready to confront right now, in the middle of a volleyball match, but he’ll later come to realize it’s not simple envy. It’s something like that, envy-adjacent, maybe, but it’s more compelling than just that. It’s like… a _yearning_ , an angry and restless need to play sets his heart racing even more than when he’d stepped off the court. He wishes he could have been the one to hit that ball. He can’t believe he got to see it, but at the same time, he _really_ can’t believe he wasn’t the one to hit it.

He _wants_ to hit it. He’s never felt so short-changed in his life, and it’s not Nishinoya’s fault but _god_ if this libero switch didn’t feel like it was taking _forever._ It’s been maybe a minute, but he’s missing playing so bad his legs begin to bounce and his shoulders are shaking in anticipation.

Coach can probably tell how keyed up he is, because when the rally is over, he levies Hinata with a knowing grin and nods to the court.

“Show them what they’ve been missing, Red.”

* * *

> 5\. Fever

The world has never felt this bright before, for Hinata. It’s beautiful and blinding, and it feels like a fire’s been lit under him and the heat is consuming him in the best way possible. 

Tokyo Nationals. Kamomedia High.

_Hoshiumi._

He’s never seen someone who is so much like him before, in stature or in spirit, playing at this level—not since he watched Karasuno’s Number 10 on TV, all those years ago—and the challenge it rears in him is like a chemical reaction. Expanding and bubbling out of control beneath his skin, his blood is hot and he’s pouring sweat and he _wants_ this. 

Like waking up so early to go somewhere special and watch the sunrise, and wondering if it’s all worth it because your mind is tired and your whole body is aching for sleep, but the instant that the line of sun breaks over the horizon, Hinata knows this is right where he was meant to be. 

The rally is annoyingly long, it feels like his bones are going to snap before the ball hits the floor, but he couldn’t care in the slightest. All that matters is getting that next point so he can keep playing. Hinata knows that Kageyama is feeling it too, because there’s this voracity in his movements, in the sets he sends around the court and the looks on his face when scoring a point is all he can think about. Hinata knows it, because he’s the exact same way, and after falling to the side to make a receive, their eyes meet and _yes this is it—_

There’s a reflection more than a sight before him, sunlight flickering in shallow water, or maybe it’s more like the rainbow oil that pools in the street after rain, but it draws his entire body forward with a force greater than gravity. Hinata’s feet leave the ground before he even realizes he’s stood up again, and the ball is coming to his hand in the way it has for months now, just at the perfect point, the perfect set from the perfect setter—

The impact of the ball hitting the floor rings out like a gunshot, and Hinata misses his footing on the way down, landing on his backside.

_“It’s in!”_

The world around him doesn’t even exist anymore. That’s how out-of-body-amazing Hinata feels, his entire spirit is lighter than music and his body feels hotter than white sand on a summer beach. Tanaka is standing in front of him, he’s saying something but the ringing in his ears is too much to catch his words, so instead Hinata just smiles and accepts his hand to help him stand up again.

Except he doesn’t get up.

He misses the hand, and then tries to get up on his own, but his legs wobble and he slips down again.

Everyone looks stunned for all of two seconds—except Kageyama. Hinata doesn’t know why, but Kageyama’s gaze is the first one he seeks out in the few seconds that follow. The expression he finds there is impossible to measure, like the loudness of kinetic energy sparking in gray clouds the instance before lightning strikes. It’s an episodic judgement, the farthest thing from indifference, a look of entire sincerity in feeling that Hinata can’t help but feel well and truly afraid.

It feels like something just flitted by him: a brush of a bird’s wing, the soft breeze of a morning. It was there, and now, it’s gone.

The present is suddenly too hot, too crowded, too animated. People are talking to him, around him, and it’s stifling. Sweat is pouring down his face and his neck and his back. He’s being moved from the ground, walked over to the bench, and Hinata manages to hear Kageyama when he says, “I won this time, too.”

How can that be? Hinata hit the toss. He didn’t miss! He couldn’t miss, not when so much was riding on him—he couldn’t miss.

He didn’t miss. He couldn’t miss. He _didn’t_ miss!

It doesn’t matter how many times he says it, though. The court, his team, the crowds, the future—it’s all already gone. 

* * *

> +1 Not terrible

Hinata can’t even remember why they started arguing, just that it was something relating to math and how Kageyama is a total idiot, but it snowballed into this—not talking for almost two whole days.

It’s during that period of brooding that something clicks for Hinata, when he takes volleyball out of the equation—which in itself is almost sacrilegious, but they were learning about something called _constants_ in algebra and he’s really trying to get better grades this semester—that there’s a lot more to Kageyama then his frustrating competitive nature and his absolutely atrocious personality.

He and Kageyama always practice together during the lunch hour, but with his mood ruined, Hinata doesn’t even really feel like he’s up to hit around a volleyball. It’s so out-of-character that he’s worried for _himself_ ; Takeda-sensei’s words about looking after himself from the last Spring come to mind, so he decides to take his food to the nurse’s office rather than try to find somewhere to eat where he might run into Bakayama.

If you take volleyball away, he’s still got some… _stuff_ there. Like during the rare occurrence that Kageyama smiles—he doesn't look terrible. He looks marginally less angry and his face would honestly probably scare children, but it’s not terrible.

Unnatural, like when Hinata forces himself to wait to hit a second tempo ball, but not terrible.

They don’t get along. Sometimes Hinata wants to strangle him, and he’s pretty sure Kageyama feels the same way. No—no, he’s _certain_ Kageyama feels the same way. They’re just like that. Hinata knows Kageyama. Kageyama knows him. They are too much alike and not at all the same, and the contradictions are just making him even angrier as he aggressively chews his sandwich.

“Sooo, did something happen with Kageyama?” the nurse asks, evidently picking up on his mood. 

Her question is implied like Hinata’s an angry teenager who just finished complaining about his boyfriend and not a frustrated volleyball player with an ass for a partner, but he doesn’t have the mental energy to explain that to the nurse. 

“Yeah, yeah. I just want to be able to eat lunch in peace and he’s ruining that.”

“How so? Is he bothering you?”

Hinata scoffs. “Like he’s not _always_ … I’m just annoyed that he won’t talk to me because of some stupid fight we had, but I don’t want to talk to him either. He never apologizes for anything and makes me feel like I did something wrong!”

“So you’re mad at him for not talking to you… but you’re not talking to him, either?”

When she says it like that, Hinata has to wrinkle his nose. It sounds so much more… _petty_ , coming from the mouth of an adult.

“Well, yeah, I guess…”

Nodding sagely, the woman let out a sigh and leaned back in her chair. “It sounds like you think you deserve an apology, so you want to hold out talking to him even if you _want_ to talk to him. Is that right?”

“I guess so? I don’t know. I just want him to toss to me and for me to steal his milk and to mess around, like normal. I guess I just miss hi—”

Hinata snaps his jaw shut with a loud _click_ before he can finish the thought. No, no way! He doesn’t miss Kageyama. He misses Kageyama tossing to him. Not talking to him or spending time together or anything. That’s just— _pff._ No.

The timing couldn’t have been better for Hinata to shut himself up, however, because no sooner does the nurse fix him with an expectant look is there a light knock at the door.

It’s Kageyama. Because of course it is. 

Hinata wants to throw his sandwich at him, just to see what he might do.

“There you are, christ, dumbass! Yamaguchi texted me and said you were in here, are you alright? What the hell?”

Hinata squares his shoulders and glares right back. “I’m—I’m fine! What does it matter to you, anyway? Mind your own business.” 

“I am minding my own business, idiot. You not taking care of yourself becomes the whole team's business, so what’s wrong with you?”

The nurse looks almost amused, and the way she hooks an eyebrow at Hinata becomes entirely too much for him.

He throws his sandwich at Kageyama, and his reaction is just as expected. A hilariously good toss of a sandwich into the air, and unable to help himself, Hinata finishes the set by smacking the battered food into the ground, making a complete mess of the nurse’s office.

They get detention, together. As it should be.


End file.
